


The Wedding Gift

by FoxRafer



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Back to Middle-Earth Month, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-13
Updated: 2012-03-13
Packaged: 2017-11-02 18:13:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/371901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxRafer/pseuds/FoxRafer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for B2MeM Challenge N31 on my 'Art Supplies' Bingo card.</p>
    </blockquote>





	The Wedding Gift

**Author's Note:**

> Written for B2MeM Challenge N31 on my 'Art Supplies' Bingo card.

Her mother considered them treasures, her father called them an unnecessary frivolity. But despite, or maybe because of, his objections, her mother had carefully packed her small collection of sweet bags, laid flat within the few clothes she would allow herself during the evacuation. They stayed hidden away for the months mother and daughter remained in the country; no use for such things when watches needed to be kept and the families in the valley cared for. But every night her mother would talk about them, how they were made, what she'd traded for the cloth and the beads. And she told stories of the grand parties she'd attended with them, fetes straight from her imagination but pure magic in a young girl's mind.

They returned to Minas Tirith carrying a heavier burden than when they left. News of her father's death reached them on the road back home, and all the fancy in her mother's heart seemed to die as well. The bags were never unpacked but stayed buried beneath what remained of her father's belongings, secreted in the folds of anything even slightly decorative or less than practical. Gone were the stories of beautiful gowns and courtly affairs, the fanciful tales of a young seamstress and her dashing husband.

Time passed more quickly than one would have believed all those years ago when many thought their days had come to an end. She had been working as a weaver for a few seasons and in less than a fortnight would marry one of the hostler's at the Stone Horse Inn. The night was cool and refreshing as she walked home and she tarried on her way, feeling as if she could take flight on the crisp air. The city had been renewed, the country flourished, and she saw a bright and comfortable future ahead of her, could envision raising her own family on these beloved streets.

She finally reached their door and froze just as she stepped inside; and her mother quickly beckoned her forward lest all the warmth from the hearth should escape. Each of her mother's treasured sweet bags lay on the table, carefully arranged on fresh linens as if on display in the market. The fabric was slightly stained and worn, the yellow tint of age setting off the elaborate beadwork of wood and bone, the delicate and multi-colored embroidery. She touched the bags reverently, having nearly forgotten how beautiful they were, then turned to her mother and saw the smile in her eyes. Slowly her mother began to talk about how they were made, what she'd traded for the cloth and the beads, and she listened more intently than she ever had before. She would soon begin a new story, and now she would have her mother's on which to build and grow. She could already see the special place these would be displayed, could already imagine the new tales they would inspire.


End file.
